


Falling

by theyellowcurtains (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Ficlet, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Overdose, Short, mention of self harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 10:15:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6607060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/theyellowcurtains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is broken after Sherlock jumped. He blames himself for everything. He just needs Sherlock back and for him to fix everything.<br/>John starts messing around in Sherlocks stuff and it leads to him making the worst decision of his life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains drug use and overdose. Please do not read it if you are sensitive to those subjects. I do not wish to upset anyone so please don't read if there is a possibility that it would make you upset.

No one knows how they are going to die or what it is going to feel. John always thought it would feel like falling, never really reaching the bottom. John was most defiantly wrong.  
When Sherlock Holmes died, John felt as if he had died along with him. He felt nothing but pain. His body ached, his mind screamed. He couldn’t do anything.  
After looking in the face of his dead best friend he could do nothing but lay on the floor and sob. There was no sound coming out of john just a loss of air and continuous tears going down his face. John felt completely broken.

For months after he could do nothing, it all hurt, his mind his body, he had barley moved from his chair the entire time. People stopped worrying about him after two months. Mrs. Hudson still brought him tea and toast and tried to get him to shower.  
John never listened, people told him he needed to go out and stop moping. Get some help, but he always refused. Nothing felt worth doing after Sherlock died.

He fell further and further into his depression, nothing was worth it. He had recently relocated to Sherlock’s room. He spent most of his bed on top of his sheets, others going through drawers, finding items that he knew had meaning to Sherlock, thus breaking his heart. He had piled a collection on the bed of things he now couldn’t bare to be apart with.  
He was on the last part of his room, the tiny cupboard underneath his bedside table. After emptying everything out John noticed the back was loose, maybe there was more. He pulled out the board and revealed what could only be described at Sherlocks stash. Siringes of what was most likely heroin, so many of them. Mostly small doses, but still together so many.  
John was fascinated, what made Sherlock like this stuff so much? Why did he have so much of it. There was no way that John was thinking with any sense as he grabbed the largest does, lighting the lighter that was also in the compartment and sterilising the end of the needle with the flame.  
Injecting it with steady practiced hands. A warm sensation flood his body, he felt comfortable, a safe warm feeling flooding his chest. The feeling was the best John had ever felt. John wanted more. He was defiantly not thinking as he continued to inject more into his bloodstream. He knew it was too much, way more than anyone could ever survive using, but he didn’t care, he just kept going. Part of him wishing for death. His vision began to blur and have dark spots around the edges. John thought he was going to die. He thought he could finally make everything stop, that was until the arms of his best friend wrapped around him and he heard a voice yelling down a phone line that they needed an ambulance.  
John thought this to be a hallucination, but he could hear and smell, and _feel_ Sherlock with him, whispering sweet panicked things in his ear. “Stay awake for me John. You need to survive this. You need to do this for me. Stay awake.”  
Then John slipped into darkness, it continued to feel warm but no longer safe, he was terrified.

 

+

 

Sherlock had come back, hoping that John would forgive him and let him back into his life. He was so scared. He hated the plan from day one, he hated that he wasn’t allowed to tell John. He wanted to come home the second that he stepped to the up to the edge. He had been back in the country for a month, unwillingly living with Mycroft.  
He was coming home in a cab to 221b Baker Street. To John.

Sherlock got inside the apartment without the interference of Mrs. Hudson. Walking upstairs he continued to fantasise about how the scene would play out. He imagined John sitting in his chair, back facing the door. Sherlock would talk in and say “honey i’m home” and John would stand up and hug him.  
Sherlock could only dream that John might be happy enough to kiss him. Daydreams continued to flood his mind despite the fact that he knew what would happen.

Sherlock could never had predicted what he faced.  
He walked though the apartment, looking up in John’s room first then working his way down, until the only room left was his own.  
He slowly opened the door, knowing John would be in there. He saw John laying on the floor, barely breathing, sitting next to two empty syringes and the back compartment cover from Sherlocks stash.  
Sherlock went into autopilot, grabbing John and resting him on his lap, calling for the paramedics.  
He began to cry. Messy sobs and shaking, holding John closer, begging him to survive. Sherlock needed to save John. He needed to keep him awake until the ambulances arrived.  
He felt John so slack and start full blown freaking out. He sat John up and started shaking him, hitting his face, screaming at him to stay alive. He needed John.

When the paramedics finally got there Sherlock demanded they take him with them. He sat stroking John’s hair, watching as they removed his shirt and attached various cords to various parts of John’s body. He was so thin, so fragile.  
It broke Sherlock to know that he had done this to him. He saw scratch marks and scars covering John’s hips and thighs and began to sob again.  
Sherlock knew this was his fault. He had left. He had left _that_ behind. He had left John alone and let him get to this. He hated himself for it.

At the hospital Sherlock was stuck in the waiting room for hours before a doctor came out looking for him. The doctor barely got the words “He made it.” out before Sherlock asked if he could see him. When told only family could see him Sherlock quickly forced the words “l’m his boyfriend” out. “I’m going to let you in, but if anyone does ask say you are his husband.”  
As soon as Sherlock got the room number he was sprinting down the halls and into the room. He stood inside staring at John. He looked so small and broken. Terrible bags under his eyes making him look so fragile. Sherlock breathed out a “Oh John, I’m so sorry.” before pulling out a chair and taking John’s hand.  
Sherlock sat in silence, waiting for John to wake. It’s all that Sherlock needed. He knew that John was alive, now he needed him to be in his life.

It took four days for John woke up. Sherlock did not move once, he refused to miss it. John sat up looking over Sherlock’s face, as if he was remembering every detail. “Sherlock Holmes. You fucking asshole.” John laughed. He just kept on laughing until he started so cry. “I can’t fucking believe you. You’re not dead and you saved my life.” John said calmly. Reaching over behind Sherlock’s head where he was leaning over the bed, pushing his head forward and smashing their lips together. The kiss startled Sherlock, but slowly he got more into it, moving his lips against John’s. The kiss was amazing. A good sign in the shittiest of situations.  
John pulled away first. “If you ever do that again I swear to god I will fuck you up.” John warned. “I know, the same stands with you.” Sherlock responded before kissing John again. This time Sherlock pulled away before gesturing for John to move over and sliding into the bed next to him.  
Yes Sherlock was terrified but he felt better knowing now he could protect John.


End file.
